Sept Idylles
by Cooking Spray
Summary: Seven TamakixHaruhi vignettes. Parts Trois: When Haruhi tells Tamaki to jump off a bridge, he doesn't even ask how high. Haruhi ruminates, and a moment is had in the moonlight.
1. Every Rose Has Its Thorns

**Every Rose Has Its Thorns (But Some Have More Than Others)**

**by Cooking Spray**

**Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**Even though I swore I'd never sign up for another themed fic challenge, here I am again. . . But this time, the list of themes is from the LiveJournal community 7snogs (a kiss has to be involved in some way each time, so look for it), so there's less commitment involved, if that's any consolation to my procrastinating self. XD Really, though, I was devastated by the lack of Tamaki/Haruhi fan fiction around here. So I took it upon myself to write my own, of course. This is also supposed to be an exercise in working with deadlines and investing in something long-term, since I have horrible trouble with that and will need the skill if I ever want to be an actual writer of any sort. Wish me luck!**

**The theme for this story is #5, "rumor". Enjoy!**

* * *

"_Love" is just a purely psychological attachment made to rationalize the completely human and natural feelings of physical attraction one has for another human being. Which are, in turn, only the result of one's body acting in reactionary accordance in the presence of certain hormones. "Love" is not to be confused with "lust". It is only the result of consummating an ultimate biological goal, and any mortal man is susceptible._

This was what the book on relationships in the self-help section of Ouran's vast and well-furnished library told Tamaki. He supposed the passage was meant to be reassuring, but it seemed like it would only be remotely consoling to someone deeply in denial. And didn't that defeat the point of "self-help", anyhow?

Currently, the person in denial was himself.

He frowned and shut the book, returning it to its proper place on the shelf noted by the shiny gold placard. He made a mental note to raise issue with the library's rather motley selection of literature. Not a single volume, for all of their expensive leather binding, had remotely helped him in the so-called "self-help" section. He was beginning to form a grudge toward the genre.

A gathering of girls had clustered behind one of the shelves; wide-eyed, bristling with curiosity, and communicating in whispers amongst themselves. What was the Host Club King doing alone, reading? And why, of all sections, was he in this one? Perhaps he had a love interest? There was a chorus of "ooh"-ing. Everyone obviously hoped this girl was themselves.

Tamaki only obliged their fawning with a subdued version of his charismatic "Grin Plus Hair Toss" combo. Thankfully for his reputation, the girls chalked his lack of enthusiasm up to his lament over an unidentified love, and were all the more endeared. They were mostly correct, anyhow.

Lost in thought, which was somewhat of a rare occurrence for the male in question, he shoved in his chair and exited the library, thanking the powers that be for the romantic notions of women. His "Brooding Shuffle" was awarded even more squeals than the previous theatric, and he thought he might've finally understood how Mori did it. Girls loved to see a boy battling with his feelings. Angst was particularly attractive these days, as most women had a "healing touch" complex, thinking they could reform any bad boy with enough devotion and their own home cooking. The second part of the myth might've been why so many of them found themselves crying in Tamaki's arms later - rich girls had little experience in the kitchen, having spent most of their lives being catered to.

This, he reminded himself, was "most girls". Until recently, "most girls" had encompassed all of the females in his life. They were the sort who were stereotypically feminine, fragile of mind, body, and heart, and easily wooed by his expert charms. They came to him for comfort and reassurance in their times of need, and he filled their heads with all of the flowery compliments and come-ons he knew, sending them away with all forgotten except for their newfound adoration with the one who bestowed them. It was almost formulaic, and it never failed.

Except for in the case of one girl, who was, ironically, the one he wanted most to pay attention to him.

It wasn't just because she currently wore a boy's school uniform and posed as male for the rest of the student body, either. Even in the frilliest, most girlish of clothes, she was still the same Haruhi, as unmoved by his plights as ever (which changed several times daily, but always included the fetal position and some sort of makeshift corner). It was most infuriating - but not in a way that truly angered him. Above all, he was confused by such emotions.

Should Tamaki ever have decided to confess these feelings, anyone could've easily told him he was in love. Not that it wasn't obvious already. Expert host though he was, he wore his heart on his sleeve, plain to see for all who cared to look. And Kyouya, with his all-seeing glasses and constant omnipresence, saw this more clearly than anyone.

This was why, when the infamous Shadow King sidled up with Tamaki, who was skulking about in the corridor like a little boy who'd been deprived of some cherished object or another (and, in this respect, looking very much like Hunny when he hadn't gotten the last slice of cake), he immediately knew exactly what was troubling him. He handled the situation accordingly.

"There are rumors that the Host Club King has fallen in love," Kyouya said, in as happy a voice as his character permitted.

Tamaki looked up, startled, and blinked a few times. "M-me? But how. . .?"

"Rumors spread like wildfire in settings such as these, you forget. Girls have the best means of gossiping that money can buy - their mouths. That, and speed-dialing cell phones and closed campus e-mailing." Kyouya smirked. He provided the services for both, no doubt.

Tamaki slumped again, dragging his feet. "I was just. . .reading. . ."

Kyouya, out of a respect that was not so much for the sake of Tamaki's pride than it was for the possible business benefits this could reap, did not press the matter. If Tamaki was a brighter man, he would've filed for spousal abuse years ago.

The king's pout intensified. "Mother. . . I don't know what to do. . ."

Music room three was fast approaching (or rather, they were fast approaching it). "Try to think of things from a corporal perspective, father. You now have a school full of girls barely able to sleep at night for wondering whether or not they are the one you have your eye on. . . it is the perfect opportunity for the Host Club to seize upon, don't you think?"

Tamaki frowned. "But, I don't. . ."

Kyouya just smiled, expert at dealing with Tamaki's exceeding denseness (for he was only truly superior to the rest of the club in his naiveté). "Don't forget the reason why you founded this club." More slyly, he added, "I'm certain that Fujioka-san would approve - after all, there is still a debt to be paid."

This was the final blow, and as usual, it was dealt with a smile. Everyone knew the women in relationships called all the shots. Tamaki nodded wordlessly, still slumping.

"Rumors can have their benefits. Remember that," Kyouya said with token vagueness and a sinister smile. As usual, Tamaki wasn't sure he fully understood, but he assented anyway. His mother usually knew what was best for him.

Didn't she. . .?

* * *

In the event of his own scheduled revealing of the "maiden of his desires", Tamaki was assigned the menial task of de-thorning the bouquets of roses that had been ordered for the occasion. Hikaru and Kaoru, who were the ones who had placed the order out of last minute necessity, had forgotten this crucial detail, much to Kyouya's chagrin. As they say, never leave a man to do a woman's work. After much scurrying about and scribbling on his clipboard, as well as arguing with the florist over his cell phone, Kyouya had finally hauled Tamaki over to fix the problem himself. It was probably a bad idea, but at that point, there was really no choice. At least it would keep him from wreaking further possible havoc.

Tamaki didn't mind the task so much. It suited his misery just fine - clippers, as it turned out, were very difficult to get the hang of, as his punctured palms clearly proved. Mori and Hunny were dealing with the caterers, which was a challenge within itself, if cake was to be involved at all. The twins and Haruhi had been haggling with the decorator, who was apparently very set in his ways, and not very adaptable to changing them. From the sounds of it, the three of them had stopped trying to go against the grain and settled for following the man and his team around dispiritedly, the wrath of the Shadow King seeming preferable than another minute spent arguing over the proper arrangement of the napkins on the dinner plates and which print was to be used on the tablecloths.

Tamaki had just stabbed himself in the pad of his thumb with another thorn when he sensed a presence behind him.

"Kyouya-sempai left you to do this?" Haruhi asked with a tinge of disbelief, examining Tamaki's bloodied hands. At the rate he was going, he was going to need hospitalization before things even got started.

"Ah, Haruhi. . ." He straightened in his chair, instantly feeling foolish. Gazing at the mess he had made, he understood her expression, and began to share in the opinion of Kyouya's faulty judgment.

Taking one look at Tamaki's clueless expression and his profuse stab wounds, Haruhi sighed and pulled up a chair. Wordlessly, she picked up a free pair of clippers from the same table the flowers were currently resting on (when Tamaki was involved, Kyouya always planned ahead) and began expertly ridding the blossoms of their prickly appendages, hands not suffering even the slightest chafe.

Tamaki's feeling of foolishness intensified, and he tried to put his palms together to make his inept less obvious, but that only caused all of his wounds to sting more keenly. The damage had already been done, anyhow. He slumped back into his chair, watching Haruhi's expertise with fascination. "Th-thank you. . ."

"You know, for someone who loves to exercise the romanticism of rose petals at every given opportunity, you would think you'd know something about handling them," she responded flatly, drawing a fresh rose from the dozen and going to work.

Tamaki scrambled to imitate her, but in his haste, only achieved in jabbing yet another thorn into the side of his palm. He stifled his hiss of pain, though - he didn't want Haruhi to know how truly lame he was. Maneuvering the clippers down the stem, he tried to imitate her technique. As was to be predicted, he failed spectacularly. How did commoners acquire such strange talents? It was a never-ending source of puzzlement.

"I. . . thought you were helping Hikaru and Kaoru," he said pitifully, his charming hostly airs forgotten in his embarrassment. Haruhi had already proven herself less than susceptible to them, anyhow.

"The decorator didn't need _any _help. Hikaru-kun and Kaoru-kun went off to entertain some of the early arriving guests." 'Stupid rich bastards' hung at the end of her sentence, unspoken.

"I don't know why mother's going through all this trouble. I guess it's good for the club, but. . ." Tamaki looked down at his hands, the sight of them making him almost more distraught than the subject matter.

Haruhi suddenly paused mid-snip, looking thoughtful. "Have you ever wondered that all this "host" business could possibly be hurting more than helping?"

"Huh?" Tamaki blinked, startled by the sudden change of topic.

Her conversational partner's confusion notwithstanding, Haruhi went on, gathering steam now. "I mean, you're supposed to announce the name of the girl you like, right?" Tamaki reddened at this, but she seemed not to notice. "But she's only one out of the many who've paid to attend in hopes that _they'd _fill her place. Don't you think the others will be jealous, or disappointed? It's not as if most of them _really _like you, but girls are fickle. Besides, your relationship would be so public it'd hardly be worth it."

Tamaki opened his mouth and raised a protesting finger at that "it's not as if they really like you" comment, even though he wasn't entirely sure he understood where she was coming from. But then he began to mull the words over, and they _did _make sense, in that blunt way of Haruhi's that always managed to be on target. If that were true, though, then the entire foundation of the host club was faulty. . . and that couldn't be right, could it?

Before he could finish this train of though, Haruhi smiled dismissively, shaking her head. "Admittedly, you have done good things for people, even if the way you went about doing so was mostly unintentional. It's just this event. . . I don't know, something doesn't feel right about it." She smirked briefly at him. "Don't worry, I already know this is Kyouya-sempai's idea. Only he would capitalize on someone's emotions like this. . ."

At once, without warning, Tamaki stood up, and assumed a declarative pose.

Haruhi lowered the rose she had been holding. Now it was her turn to be flabbergasted. "Tamaki-sempai. . .?"

"I'm not going to tell my most favored maiden!" he announced with a strange amount of conviction, eyes shining zealously.

"But why?" Haruhi blinked. "I mean, I think it's a good idea, but Kyouya-sempai has already planned this event. . ."

"Because. . . ah, because. . ." As suddenly has his enthusiasm had taken hold of him, it had let go again, and now the Host Club King was sporting a very royal flush.

". . . You don't have a reason." Haruhi's expression was trailing towards exasperation; that dreaded, stony look she gave him that always succeeded in completely decimating his self-esteem and ever-fragile ego. He had to reverse this!

"Because. . ." He grasped on to the nearest thing his boyish mind knew to say. ". . .because of you! You're so. . .smart, Haruhi!"

Without really thinking (as Tamaki did most things in life), he went over and grabbed the smaller girl, bloody hands and all, punctuating this statement with a bone-crushing embrace. Completely bewildered by the turn of events, Haruhi didn't even try to protest. Instead, she just stood, slack-limbed and eyes wide, and let Tamaki hug her.

Of course, this was the exact moment Kyouya picked to raise the curtain.

A murmur of shock rippled through the female audience, all of whom had apparently been filing in ever since Haruhi had arrived. Tamaki dimly recalled being instructed by Kyouya to move backstage as soon as he heard guests arriving, but now, of course, was a little late to be remembering.

One girl stood up. "So this is who Tamaki-sempai likes? Haruhi-kun. . .?"

There was a brief moment of collective discussion on this revelatory piece of information, and then came the unanimous squeal:

"Aiiieee! Boy love!"

Several girls in the audience took out their camera phones, aiming them at the stage. "Kiss, kiss, kiss!" they urged excitedly, snapping photographs of the frozen couple left and right.

After the initial shock wore off, Haruhi, in light of the utter ridiculousness of the situation, began to laugh. What else was there to do?

"Eh? Haruhi? What's so funny?" Tamaki peered down at her questioningly, still flushed.

"I guess I was wrong. . ." How could she have possibly worried about the feelings of this crowd? They changed just as quickly as the percale sheets on their undoubtedly over proportional beds. She did wonder who Tamaki intended on choosing, though. After all, what had all the fuss been about in the first place?

"Wrong about what? You can tell Daddy!"

The return of the pseudonym reminded her of the delicate position they were maintaining. "Um, Tamaki-sempai. You're still. . . holding me."

"Oh!" He immediately released his hold and nearly leaped away, the blush returning with a vengeance. The girls went wild, and Kyouya, for whom things had turned out even better than anticipated, took the liberty of snapping a few shots that would fall under the caption of "the royal flush" in the club's next photo book. Vulnerability was an in-thing this season, as far as maiden's hearts were concerned.

The pressure and all of the excitement finally getting to him, Tamaki began his groveling. "Daughter, please forgive me! Daddy will never violate the circle of trust again!"

Instead of getting annoyed by her senior (but only of ten months, and possibly less in terms of maturity), Haruhi just giggled, waving a hand at him. "Don't worry. Kyouya-sempai is probably having a field day with this, anyhow. . ." She looked thoughtful. "Besides, I've never really thought of it, but you remind me of a little nephew I used to have that I haven't seen in a while."

Tamaki wasn't really sure if he was supposed to be flattered or insulted by this comment, but on account of Haruhi's rare smile, he decided to take it as the former. "So daddy's forgiven. . .?"

"Yes," Haruhi answered with a wry grin. Staring out into the crowd, she shook her head. She didn't think she'd ever understand the ways of these people, but so far, life as a member of the Host Club had proven to be, above all things, a learning experience. In the right setting, she could even look upon all of its ridiculousness with sentimentality.

And as for the Host Club King. . . well, he was a different breed altogether. Fruitcake though he was, despite all of the illusions of grandeur that he put on for the ladies, he still was very much a little boy with a lot to learn. But he was trying. . . and although the results were almost always failures, in times like these, his ditziness was sort of endearing in its own right. More cute than all of his put-on hostly charms, certainly, and a side that she strongly suspected few customers ever got to see of him.

"So, who were you going to pick?" she queried, more out of curiosity than anything.

"Ah. . .er. . ." Tamaki blanched, and then the bloodstains on Haruhi's blazer saved him. "Haruhi! I've ruined your lovely jacket! Daddy must go and right this most grievous error at once!"

In flustered indignation, he practically dragged her backstage, much to the thunderous applause of all the fangirls below.

Haruhi, for one, could not see what was so embarrassing about ruining a jacket, but she decided that she wouldn't press the hue of his cheeks. With a smirk and much amusement, she allowed the state of her appearance to be needlessly fretted over, because, if for no other reason, Tamaki's apoplectic apologies were just _too _fun to listen to.

Meanwhile, at the back of the crowd, the twins were pouting over Tono's stealing of their cues, Hunny was obliviously stuffing his face with some confection or another under Mori's careful guidance, and Kyouya was grinning wickedly, the expected revenue from the benefit already estimated to be far above that of their last.

The troublesome roses, still not completely sheared of their thorns, were later sold on the Host Club web site, marketed to be "stained with the blood of Tamaki and Haruhi's newfound love". Though wilted, they still went like hotcakes.

More importantly, Tamaki never sought out the self-help section to solve his romantic problems ever again. These days, he preferred the dry cleaner.

And Haruhi's question was never answered, but she did have a very clean blazer, and now knew at least a hundred ways to be sorry for ruining someone's clothing.

The corner of music room three was very light that day, indeed.

* * *

**I'm not sure I like how this turned out. . . XD It was almost gen-y, even though I wanted desperately to add romance. My stories never go where I would like them to. Anyhow, I hope no one was too OOC - I know I neglected the rest of the cast (poor Hunny - I think every mention of him involved cake in some way. XD). Tamaki didn't get to be nearly as ridiculous as I would've preferred, since he was too busy emo-ing and practicing his pseudo-parenting. But at least I got to have Haruhi reflect on his personality a bit, and make some interesting points about the host club. I think the next themes will be less lighthearted - there are several situations and ideas I want to write about.**

**Thoughts?**


	2. Playing House

**Playing House**

**by Cooking Spray**

**Disclaimer: Excessive thought of CS as the true creator of Ouran may result in legal complications.**

**The second of my submissions to 7snogs. This one's for theme number 7, milk. I love writing these two. If I had the time and the work ethic, I'd sign up for more themes. . . but. . . y'know. XD It's rare enough that I'm inspired to churn out even this much as it is. I am on a total Ouran roll. I haven't loved a series like this in a long time.**

**Yamato and Naoko are mine. Tamaki's family is so fun. X3 Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

It had been a boring day for the members of the host club. Business had been slow due to the anticipation of the j-rock concert that was taking place after school - Kyouya, expedient though he was, had spent all morning on the phone arguing with the venue and the ticket vendor to no avail. All he had now was a crick in his neck and depressing figures in his ledger, which meant it was safe to say that everyone was avoiding the Shadow King. Every time he saw a group of girls flashing glossies of the band in the schoolyard, a vein throbbed on his forehead, and somewhere, a light bulb blew.

The rest of the gang, sans one Mori and his beloved Mitsukuni, were enraptured in a game of Go Fish. Naturally, since it was a commoner activity, Haruhi was winning. Hunny nibbled on petit fours and sipped tea, watching, mesmerized, as Tamaki attempted to grow enough fungi to make dinner for a party of sixteen and the Hitachiin twins achieved new levels of cheating.

This was until the door was thrown open with great aplomb, sending a zephyr through the entirety of music room three that shattered everyone's reverie and scattered all of the playing cards (and the mushrooms) on the floor to opposite corners of the room (Tamaki would find them later, no doubt).

They noticed immediately, with some measure of relief, that the visitor (or rather, gate crasher) was a woman. She looked much older than their usual clientele, seeming to be in her thirties. Clad in a purple pantsuit that clung to every curve of her generously proportioned body and boasting a tumble of curly blonde hair and wickedly sexy features, she looked like a force to be reckoned with.

And she had a baby.

There was a pregnant pause, because there's always a pregnant pause in such cases, and it especially had to be pregnant in this case, on account of the baby being there.

Tamaki was the first to find his voice. "A-aunt Naoko?"

Mystery Woman's face arranged itself into a relieved grin. "Tama-kun!" She rushed over and attacked him, baby and all. "I knew I'd find you here! The girls outside told me all about your little club. . ."

Their king's expression clearly read "help!", but everyone else was much too busy displaying their own dumbfounded caricatures.

Kyouya, who had been sitting moodily in the picture window, got up and silently strode over, his glasses glinting ominously.

"Father." His voice was commanding. "Do you know this woman?"

Mysterious Woman released Tamaki, spinning around to frown at the newcomer. "My name is Naoko, so please stop referring to me as 'this woman'. And of course Tama-kun knows me! I'm his dear old auntie!"

Tamaki sighed greatly before punctuating this statement with a nod. "It's true."

Kyouya fell silent for a moment before asking, "And the baby?"

"This is Yamato! Say hi, my little love muffin!" Naoko lifted one of the child's tiny wrists and simulated a greeting. It was very clear which side of the family she belonged to.

Tamaki looked surprised. "I didn't know you had a child, Naoko-chan. . ." His eyes widened.

Naoko suddenly became very serious. "That's why I'm here. Tamaki. . . I need you to watch your cousin while I run a very important errand."

At this, Kyouya took it upon himself to intervene, stepping bodily between the both of them and breaking up the family reunion. "We are a host club, not a babysitting service. Our mission is to bring happiness to young girls, but we draw the line at playing nanny."

"Wait, mother!" Tamaki raised a palm and pulled Kyouya aside, exchanging Looks with Naoko in the process. "I know. . . something. This is a crisis! We cannot turn my dear auntie down in this time of need!"

Kyouya arched a brow. "And is there some reason why this "crisis" contributes to her inability to hire someone to look after her child like every other sensible woman?"

Naoko set her shoulders, and then butted in herself. "I haven't got the time. It's true that I may be irresponsible. . ." She looked down for a moment, and then continued. ". . .but Tama-kun is the only one I trust to keep this a secret. I think he knows why."

Yamato gurgled happily in agreement.

Kyouya gave the three of them hard stares, and then turned away. "Very well. . . since you are all being so cryptic, and I have no right to intrude on family matters-" - Hikaru and Kaoru stifled their snorts of laughter at this comment - "- then you can do whatever you like."

He walked over to the picture window again to resume his brooding, but not before turning around and giving Tamaki a warning. "But I am not playing mommy."

Tamaki gulped.

Now that everything was relatively settled, Naoko burst into smile again. "Well, Tama-kun, I have to go! Just remember, this is our little secret." She placed a manicured finger to her lips coyly, and then stepped behind the door, wheeling in a bassinet and placing her son inside.

"Mama won't be gone long, don't worry," she cooed down at him before addressing the rest of the host club. "Take good care of him!"

And then she was gone as soon as she had come.

Hunny struggled down from his chair and rushed to the scene, peering over the rim of the bassinet at the tiny bundle. "Takashi, Takashi, come see! He's so small. . ." When Mori arrived, Yamato promptly latched onto one of his fingers, and Hunny giggled.

The twins were the next to investigate. Yamato was disappointingly nonplussed by the funny faces they were making at him, but he concentrated on the vivid shade of their hair with interest, grabbing a handful of Kaoru's at one point and sending him whimpering with pain into the arms of his other half.

Tamaki and Haruhi hung back. The former because he was still in shock, and the latter because she was trying to digest the latest dilemma her King had gotten them all into.

"How do you intend to deal with this, Tamaki-sempai? Surely you can't look after the baby on your own. . ." She looked at him dubiously, waiting for an answer. He was far too preoccupied with himself to be suited for childcare.

Tamaki wibbled, and then realized that Haruhi had a point. "I don't know. . . I guess our only choice is to stay here and look after him until Naoko-chan gets back." He brightened, getting an ingenious idea. "Haruhi! You could stay and help me! You know these commoner things better than I do!"

"I may be a commoner, but I'm also an only child," she said flatly, even though her father probably counted as a younger sibling. "Besides, this is your problem, not mine. I can't stay after school. I have things to get done."

"But Ha-ru-hi. . ." Tamaki went straight to Puppy Dog Eyes Mode, looking at her beseechingly.

Haruhi pointedly looked the other way, at the baby. She did feel a little sorry for him - the specifics were foggy, but it was obvious that his existence was not supposed to be linked with his mother's in any way, for whatever reasons. Naoko had appeared to be very caring toward him, so it must be hard for her to have to hide things.

No, no. She had to stop thinking this way before she developed sympathy for him.

She looked back at Tamaki. He was still staring at her pathetically.

It was no use trying to resist, then. She sighed, and caved.

"Alright, I'll help you look after him," Haruhi muttered, defeated.

"Score one for Tono!" the twins chorused, grinning devilishly as their king instantly began to shower Haruhi with unnecessary gratitude.

Tamaki's "Get-Haruhi-Alone-for-the-Afternoon-to-Play-House" plan had succeeded.

* * *

It was four 'o clock. School was out, and everyone had gone home (or, speaking for the majority of Ouran's female population, to the j-rock concert). Everyone, that was, except for two.

So far, things hadn't been so bad. Yamato was a well-behaved baby in comparison to Ranka, Haruhi had to admit. It was Tamaki that was the problem.

Inspired by the situation, he had began to talk at length of his dreams of fathering a litter of children in his own image, complete with rhapsodious hand clasping and sparkling aplenty. Tamaki was, it seemed, quite the family man. For the moment, it was actually amusing - he hadn't moved on to grandchildren yet.

"I'm pretty sure that Aryan features are recessive, Tamaki-sempai," Haruhi said with a smirk, looking down into the bassinet at Yamato's blue, blue eyes. Only babies could achieve that certain hue. Well, babies and Tamaki, she was forced to amend, noticing the similarity in her senior's eyes. But the two were hardly different.

"Beauty is recessive?" Tamaki looked distinctly gypped. His pouting was so close to that of his cousin's that Haruhi couldn't really be bothered by the vain remark. Besides, vanity was something that Tamaki rolled out of bed with, and she supposed he did have a good reason to be proud.

"Hm. . ." He thought a moment, assuming a comical pose of contemplation. "Then I should like my daughter to have. . . brown hair, and brown eyes." He nodded decisively, looking very pleased with his selection, and instantly became starry-eyed imagining miniature versions of Haruhi cavorting around.

Haruhi snorted. "That's a drastic change. . . you know, you can't get too idealistic about your unborn children. Even the King can't control everything." She was still having some difficulty grappling with the idea of Tamaki as a father. A real one, that was.

Tamaki pouted again. "Ha-ru-hi. . . you're ruining all my fantasies. . ." He gave the corner a look of longing.

Haruhi was about to say something that would've sent him into shadowy exile for sure when Yamato began to contort his own features, balling up his tiny fists and squirming uncomfortably. Tamaki immediately snapped out of the trance, surveying his little cousin's distress blankly.

"Haruhi, what does he want? I don't know these commoner things. . ." He poked Yamato curiously in the side, which got him a very irritable-sounding wail.

The commoner scowled. "You know, just a moment ago, you two looked a lot alike."

This comment had the opposite intended effect, as Tamaki instantly began to glow. "You can baby your dear old dad as much as you want, Haruhi. . ."

"No."

Tamaki, on cue, wilted.

Yamato's discontent was rising in volume. His grabbing motions were becoming more fervent, and he seemed to be straining himself toward Haruhi.

"Eh? What's he doing?"

Haruhi blinked once, and then saw that the motions the baby was making were toward. . . her chest. It then became very obvious what it was little Yamato wanted.

"I think. . . he's hungry," Haruhi said somewhat haltingly.

"How do you know that? You really must teach me all of these wonderful commoner skills. . ." But when Haruhi failed to react to the mention of her social status as usual, Tamaki became curious. He looked from baby, to Haruhi, from baby, to Haruhi. . . and then, suddenly, realization dawned.

Blushing and sputtering, he thrust a finger in the infant's direction. "You. . . you naughty baby! No one violates my precious daughter so brazenly. . ."

Haruhi turned, slightly flushed but mostly agitated. "He's only six months old. Babies can't be expected to have couth." In a lower tone, she added, "Not that adults can be expected to in this family, either. . ."

There was an awkward silence, only interrupted by Yamato's petulant cries and audible grabbing noises. Tamaki took this time to reconfigure his complexion to resemble that of a tomato's, preparing himself for the embarrassing subject matter that was most likely ahead.

"We're going to have to do something about this. Obviously, I can't feed him. . . and it's apparent that he isn't used to formula. . ." Haruhi looked down, avoiding any sight of Tamaki because, if possible, the horrible expression she knew he was wearing would only serve to make her feel more at unease. This was a serious situation, as far as she was concerned. Well, as serious as a situation could be, with Tamaki involved.

"I don't understand why your aunt breast feeds him, though. . . it's unusual, for a women of her status." Haruhi frowned at the carpet instead of Tamaki, who was undoubtedly still quailing from the use of the word "breast". She chanced a look at the screaming baby in the bassinet that was the cause of all the trouble, and knew she should probably try to soothe him, but she really wanted to feed him before holding him in any way, for reasons that did not need to be explained.

"Well, Naoko was always the wild one in the family. . . Which explains the whole love child thing too, I suppose." He watched Haruhi look at his screaming cousin with obvious indecision. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were intense - a standard thinking pose. He thought she looked exactly like a concerned mother should, except for the fact that her and baby couldn't have resembled each other less.

"I can't believe I'm here babysitting just because your aunt is too afraid to admit she has a child. Why can't she tell anyone, anyhow?"

Tamaki sighed. "It's because the man she was dating. . . was not wealthy. My grandfather thinks that it is unfit for them to be together." He looked down at Yamato somewhat pensively, developing a deep sense of sympathy for the little hellion.

Haruhi looked up at him, honestly shocked. "A commoner. . .? I thought the caste system was mostly just for show, anymore. . ." She let the end of her sentence trail. Tamaki-sempai's aunt was in love with a commoner, and her father didn't approve. It was a modern day tragedy, if she had ever heard of one. Things still went on this way?

She studied Tamaki's profile. He seemed upset about this, for some reason. It was clear, now, that everyone with the name of Suoh was very much into show, but Tamaki's theatrics seemed different somehow, in comparison. She couldn't believe he really shared this needlessly aristocratic viewpoint. . . otherwise, why had he even agreed to cover for his aunt? Sure, they were family, and sure, she was a woman in distress. . . But from what she understood, as heir to the title of his namesake and all of the society benefits that included, he could've had the right to refuse her.

Also, why would he have shown she, Haruhi, so much kindness? The only reason she was a part of the host club was because of her debt, but Tamaki sometimes went to exorbitant lengths to protect her true identity that seemed to step outside the boundaries of obligation. It could just be a fascination with her way of life, but then there was that time at the beach. . . She closed her eyes and turned back to the baby. Extraordinarily simple as he seemed, Haruhi realized that there might be more to her senior than his bravado and over-the-top antics had led her to believe.

She wanted to ask if he felt the same way, but she thought that would be too selfish. Some sort of new tension had filled the air, and she didn't want to think about anything for too long, in case that it could be revealed anew in the same uncomfortable light. Instead, she reached down into the bassinet and began to stroke Yamato's back, trying to stop his crying.

Tamaki smiled wanly, looking at the maternal ministrations with fondness. "I don't think a baby could possibly be bad, no matter who its parents are," he said quietly, smoothing a blond cowlick that had cropped up on Yamato's head.

Haruhi blinked in response to Tamaki's rare seriousness, and then shared in his smile. "No. I don't think so either."

He went on. "It may make me old-fashioned, but. . . I believe two people should be together because they want to be, not because of who they are." He chuckled almost dismissively, and turned to look at the darkening sky outside the picture window.

There were at least ten sarcastic remarks Haruhi could think of to say to that, but since Tamaki was, for once, being genuine, she held her tongue. This side of him confused her, because it made the entirety of the host club and all of his previous behaviors seem even more puzzling. He was both simplistic and complicated, and she was unable to form an opinion about him.

Instead, she agreed. "I think so, too."

Tamaki smiled down at her, warmly, and for a second she felt of twinge of uncertainty, of nervousness; in spite of the fact that, or perhaps because of it, for once, he was not intentionally trying to play host.

Then, as is prone to happening in all situations of discomfort, there was a distraction.

The double doors of music room three creaked open, and one curly blonde head peered around it. Upon seeing that only Tamaki and Haruhi remained, Naoko's face blossomed into a smile, and she scurried inside, closing the door gently behind her. She was dressed in a slinky black evening gown now, but the men's trench coat that hung around her shoulders made her apparel seem less suspicious.

"Aah, Tama-kun! Thanks for taking such good care of my little boy!" She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and leaned down into the bassinet, lifting up her unhappy son.

"Shh, shh, mama's here now. . . You don't have to be hungry much longer. . ." She cradled Yamato to her chest, and he curled up against the warmth. Both Tamaki and Haruhi couldn't help but marvel at the cuteness of the display.

Naoko smiled gratefully at the pair. "I want to repay you in some way for doing this. . . you really didn't have to."

"Nonsense," Tamaki said nonchalantly, waving his hand. "We didn't mind at all, did we, Haruhi?"

"Not at all. You have a lovely son, Naoko-san," Haruhi responded, nodding with conviction.

Naoko's gaze shifted to the shorter girl. "I remember you from earlier. You must be a good friend of Tama-kun's to stay after and help him like this. . . I can't understand why you're wearing a boy's school uniform, though." She placed a musing finger on her chin, surveying Haruhi's appearance.

Both father and daughter were thrown, assuming identical aghast expressions.

"H-how did you. . .?" Tamaki pointed at Haruhi, dumbfounded.

His aunt giggled. "Well, she's much too pretty to be a boy. It's pretty obvious, I think. Especially in her mannerisms. That, and anyone can see that you. . . well, nevermind. I'll let you find out that one on your own, Haru-chan." She winked.

"E-eh?" Haruhi looked from Naoko to up at Tamaki, who seemed slightly flushed again. For a self-proclaimed egotist, he embarrassed very easily these days.

"Well, I must be off!" She lowered her voice to a timbre that was nearly a whisper. "Really, I thank you both again for doing this. I'll see to it that you're rewarded somehow, whether Tama-kun likes it or not. No one says no to Naoko!"

As predicted, both Tamaki and Haruhi opened their mouths to refuse. Naoko stepped back and glanced them over, as did Yamato, who had quieted and was now sucking his thumb and staring at them with his wide blue eyes.

"Hm, Haruhi and Tamaki. . . you make a good set of parents." She smirked and turned on her heel, waving over her shoulder. "Goodbye!"

And then she was gone, leaving the newly christened couple to stare blankly after her, contemplating the possible meanings of her words.

Tamaki spoke first, clearing his throat and looking away carefully. "You know, what Naoko-chan said is true. . . you did take good care of my little cousin. . ."

Haruhi's lips tilted. "Please, father. That's nearly pedophilia, you know. And you said Yamato was bad. . ."

Tamaki reddened again, still not able to meet Haruhi's eyes. "A King has the right to rearrange his familial roles if he sees fit!"

His daughter sighed, but her lips were still upturned. "Yes, but what will Kyouya-sempai think?"

"He. . . he won't have to know! It can be a secret between the two of us!"

Haruhi raised an eyebrow. "A family affair?" She laughed shortly, shaking her head. "You're such an idiot." The insult was said with little malicious intent.

Tamaki looked affronted anyhow, beginning to sniffle. "How can you speak so meanly about your fiancé-to-be. . .?"

"Well, it's a wife's duty to let their husband know when he's being stupid." In some absurd way, this banter was fun. That was, if you didn't ponder the implications too hard.

Tamaki's eyes grew wide and teary. "I don't like it when you talk dirty, Haruhi. . ."

Haruhi brushed off her blazer. "Get used to married life, Tamaki-sempai," she said errantly, an amused jaunt to her features.

"Can I at least carry you over the threshold?"

"No, but you could help me with my school things."

Tamaki shuffled off dejectedly, head hanging. "As the lady wishes. . . My darling wife, you are so cruel. . ."

As her new busboy dutifully retrieved the mentioned briefcase, Haruhi remembered something. "Tamaki-sempai. . . do you know what Naoko-san meant by saying something was obvious to everyone? She said I had to figure it out, but she didn't finish her sentence."

Tamaki froze, and the blush instantly made a comeback. The King was dense in many ways, but even he had understood enough of his aunt's implication to know what she was talking about. He grabbed the briefcase and strode over to her, handing it over somewhat roughly and striding toward the door with sudden purpose.

"Tamaki-sempai?" She blinked, confused by his seeming shift in mood. Had it been wrong to bring up?

"If you can't guess. . ." he said finally, his voice more strained than usual, ". . .then it is not important, anyhow."

Haruhi fell silent, looking down at the briefcase and then scrambling to catch up with the blond's unnaturally long strides. Why had he become so suddenly distant? She tried to recall the rest of the conversation for some possible hint that would lead her to the answer. All that she knew was that it was something that made Tamaki embarrassed, judging by the blush that had followed.

A certain frustration overtook her, then. If it was something that was apparent to everyone, why couldn't she figure it out? Watching Tamaki's stiffly set shoulders made her feel guilty. He rarely ever got truly angry. It must be serious.

Resolving to set things straight right then, Haruhi quickened her step so that she was walking in synch with her senior. In lieu of a spoken apology that would only seem false, she would make a quiet offer. After all, Tamaki had seemed to be happy just earlier, when they had been talking about his "family". It would make her feel a little strange to say what she intended, and it might not work, but it was the only thing she knew to do in this case.

"I can stop being your daughter, if you like," she said plaintively, looking directly into his obscured face.

Tamaki paused, for a moment, and she could hear his breath hitch - but then, without hesitating or even saying a word, he reached out and twined his hand with hers, squeezing as hard as he could without hurting and making her fall closer to him.

Momentarily shocked by how quickly he had taken advantage of her offer, and the contact, Haruhi stumbled, eyes wide. Then, noticing how tightly he clung to her, she lowered them to the ground, and thought she might be starting to understand, a little.

As if nothing bad had never happened, Tamaki turned and looked down at her, grinning broadly. "Ah, daddy's little girl is a cheeky one, I see! Don't worry, nothing will keep us apart!"

He was referring to her as his daughter again. _I think I understand, Tamaki-sempai. . . some of the reasons why you are. . . the way you are._

She smiled back, slowly but fully. "Right."

He was still holding her hand.

* * *

**For some reason, this got all sad at the end. . . and it turned out to be really, really long. I don't know how that happened. I hope everyone liked Naoko and Yamato. I just realized how much they reminded me of Noriko and her child from Gravitation. . . XD They're characters that just kind of created themselves when I started writing, and I'm not sure that Tamaki's father really has any siblings, but I wanted to write something like this. "Marrying into money" isn't that big of a deal anymore, in the modern day, but I'm suspecting that wealthy families would want to carry on their name with a certain amount of prestige. Most rich kids are raised thinking that way. Tamaki's just special.**

**I enjoyed writing this a lot. Babies are so cute, and there were a lot of opportunities for banter, and for Tamaki to be as silly as I wanted him to. I just hope that no one was too OOC in those last few paragraphs.**

**Thoughts?**


	3. The Gold Guilding

**The Gold Gilding**

**by Cooking Spray**

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**Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.**

**Okay, so I finally gave in and wrote something that's nearly pure fluff. You know I can't resist. . . XD Amusing hijinks and ensemble acting are at a minimum here, but I wanted at least one of these themes to be concentrated seriously on just the two of them. This deals with Haruhi's conflicting feelings after the aftermath of the anime's finale, but not in any direct or explicit way, and more for chronological accuracy. It was much too indulgent to my inner fangirl to write, though. XD**

**This story is based on theme number three, embrace. Happy reading. **

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It was a somewhat well-known fact that women had the tendency to prefer men who shared certain characteristics of personality with their fathers.

This was, perhaps, the reason why one Haruhi Fujioka had been so disillusioned as to have allowed herself to attend a host club social with one Tamaki Suoh - as a _girl._

The population of Ouran High was a somewhat naive and gullible bunch, which they had proven on countless previous occasions, comparable only to a herd of expensively-attired sheep. They had swallowed the excuse about Haruhi being the twins' long-lost cousin and the _real _Haruhi having to volunteer at the soup kitchen with surprisingly few questions. (Kyouya insisted that the last part of the fabrication was conductive to the growth of the natural type's fan base, much to Haruhi's chagrin.)

Of course, this meant that she had spent the duration of the night answering to the ridiculous name of "Hanami", as well as being led around on the host club king's arm like a crown jewel. The most painful part of the experience was pretending to giggle when clusters of jealous female partygoers interrogated her about the mysterious overnight courtship ("So, have you kissed yet?" "When did you start dating?" "Tell me, does he really prefer briefs over boxers?"). Her date, however, was annoyingly ebullient about the whole thing, which wasn't helpful in the least.

It was almost a relief when the crowd died down and left her with only one nattering grievance, although the rest of the host club had dashed off to parts unknown with a suspicious amount of gusto and an unnecessary amount of snickering. But, Haruhi had signed herself up for this one, and she would stick it out, no matter how unbearable. (Puppy dog face, be damned.)

"It's such a nice night, isn't it?" Tamaki chattered, in the overly casual way that he sometimes did to avoid saying what was truly on his mind. "I think the host club social went very well. Kyouya should be happy. And did you try the hors d'oeuvres? I think they were the best we've had a host function for a long time. . ."

Haruhi sighed. "Shut up."

In a split second, her date's eyes pooled with exaggerated tears. "You don't want to relive this magical evening?"

Haruhi pulled back in exasperation. In her recollection, the evening had been anything but magical - and if this was Tamaki's definition of said term, he was more insane than initially suspected. "Don't do that, either! Look. . ." She crossed her bare, lithe arms and let her eyes fall on the cobblestones beneath their feet. "You went to this dance because you wanted to be with me. You said so yourself."

She shifted her focus to looking directly at Tamaki. "And I agreed to go with you, after all of your whining and clinging, because I thought the idea of spending an evening with you really didn't seem so bad." Allowing that to sink in before continuing, she went on. "So don't talk about meaningless things."

Tamaki gazed at her, honestly startled, and then shunted away slightly, blushing at the spot-on diagnosis.

At that, Haruhi really did smile. You could never be angry with Tamaki for long. He behaved so much like a little boy.

"I don't know what to say to you, Haruhi," he pleaded finally. You could always leave it to a child to state exactly what was on his mind.

"I don't know either," she conceded. She walked over to the ledge and sat, leaning back against the wrought-iron fencing. Night was just setting in - the clouds were all clustered off in the distance in purple shades, and the first sprinkling of stars could be seen shining through them, far away beacons in the haze-smothered dusk. Sadly, there was no full moon to complete the picturesque scene, but Haruhi supposed that if she asked Tamaki very nicely, he might try to go lasso it for her. The thought was amusing.

Of course, then the very order of the universe would be distorted, but Haruhi was quite certain that had already happened at least twice since she had come to Ouran. Ordinary scientific laws did not apply when the host club was involved.

Stretching out delicately, and probably in a most improper fashion for someone attired in such an expensive evening gown, Haruhi took time to bask in what she supposed was an ideally atmospheric and relaxing situation. She was always urged by her wealthy friends to give herself more "leisure time", whatever that really meant. It was strange to find herself actually following their advice - Haruhi's system of beliefs taught her that time spent doing idle things was time wasted. But now that there were no constraints upon her, she was forced to succumb to the express purpose of the evening, and that was enjoying herself.

With Tamaki.

Upon this newly sensible resolution, and with a greater tranquility of being, Haruhi smiled over at her designated date and patted the space next to her. Her time at Ouran had taught her at least one thing, and that was to never neglect your clientele. "Sit."

Tamaki, who had been standing awkwardly by the gate and darting his eyes around, jumped at the proposal. "S-sit? There? Why, Haruhi, there are much more comfortable sitting arrangements. . . Let me go fetch you a chair so that you don't snag your pretty dress. . ."

Haruhi rolled her eyes heavenward, sighing and beginning to slump a little again. "Just. sit."

Tamaki balanced for a moment on one leg, half on the veranda and half off, as he had been about to go into Full Dash Mode to retrieve the plushiest chair he could. But he saw a tinge of exasperation in Haruhi's features, and decided to obey her wishes. Her sensibilities were the anecdote to the conclusions he so often jumped to - it was nearly entirely amazing just how down to earth she was. Sitting down with an unwarranted amount of apprehension on the rude precipice, his nervousness returned. The brick was still slightly warm from the sun, but hard, nonetheless. Perhaps it was another mysterious commoner trait - a tolerance for the uncomfortable so remarkable that it became preference.

Despite her summons, Haruhi gave no especial acknowledgement to their new proximity. Instead, she kept staring up at the heavens, her svelte profile illuminated in the waning light to dramatic effect. It wasn't so much that she was actually enchanted with anything skyward, and she wasn't poised in the least to make an embarrassing comment about the stars, because she half-expected Tamaki to do so for her. Rather, she liked the enormity of it all - out of the shadow of skyscrapers, the night seemed to take on a more realistic starkness.

Tamaki, for the most part, was content with watching her. Her eyes were alight in the special way they sometimes were when she was secretly pleased with something - she would never voice this joy aloud, or even realize how deeply the source of happiness affected her, but the expression was always obvious. It was his goal to inspire this look. He had yet to achieve it, but he remained rather optimistic about things. After all, he wasn't totally without motivation.

In such an auspiciously stereotypical setting, there was time yet for his goal to be met. Haruhi was a difficult sort of heroine to charm, but he had a sense about her, and he hoped it wouldn't fail him.

With a sudden turn, Haruhi's focus had shifted. "You're hair's all mussed," she remarked in a plaintive tone, studying him with something that was not quite amusement.

He blinked and lifted a palm to his head, searching for the aforementioned rogue strands. The cowlick was of an especially tricky sort, however, and Tamaki's fingers fumbled to find it. Saving him the trouble, Haruhi reached over and smoothed it down herself. It was a simple gesture, although something about it felt vaguely experimental - normally Haruhi wouldn't have cared about the state of anyone's appearance. It was, nevertheless, unreasonably irking to her to see the hair of someone so prided in their own vanity in such disarray. Another moment, and she would've had to laugh - which meant the subsequent five minutes would be spent assuring Tamaki that she was not, technically, laughing at _him_. . . just the effects of the weather on his personage.

Although flushing on reflex at his date's touch, Tamaki didn't waste any time informing Haruhi of the same. "Your. . . yours is too." Courteously extending the same favor to Haruhi's own tresses, he deftly righted the breeze's damage.

"There!" He gave her an absurdly broad smile that was rather unbefitting of his trivial accomplishment.

Haruhi, though the shaking of her head was compulsory, could not fully ward off the upward turn her lips took. The fact that someone of such obviously illustrious accomplishment could be proud about smoothing her hair was a point of definite interest. Tamaki was full of childish triumph for tasks that most people stopped getting congratulated for when they were five.

And for her part, most girls, upon reaching this conclusion, would not have hesitated to let their admiration be known. In fact, Tamaki would've much preferred it. But such was not Haruhi's way. She was still unsure of the nature of her feelings, on a conscious level. She was comfortable with the two of them, though - frustrating as he could be, Haruhi realized she harbored not the slightest trace of true repulsion for her senior. In light of all she had discovered about him, it would be amazingly hard to. And such effervescence _was _worthy of admiration.

"You keep taking risks."

It was a statement. It was meant to define all of the extremes he went to, in general, but as soon as the words left her mouth, Haruhi became aware of the "with me" that hovered at its end. That was her first offense - curiosity. It seemed she had been perceptive in every matter than did not concern him, which was perplexing, as Tamaki was more transparent than anyone she knew.

By this point, Haruhi's blunt and unheralded changes of topic were becoming commonplace. In some sense, she was more of a mistress of spontaneity that Tamaki himself, although she was much more subtle about it.

Tamaki looked confused for a moment, but then his smile brightened again. "I suppose I really don't have to go out of my way, do I?" He allowed himself a little laugh, and then let his eyes settle impersonally on the starry backdrop. "I don't know. I care about people. I like making them happy. Sometimes, that involves going to great lengths. . . But it feels better than sitting back and doing nothing."

He grinned over at her. "Answer your question?"

Haruhi couldn't help but live in continual awe for her senior's frankness. He was able to talk about such passionate subjects candidly, with the same errant manner in which he charmed legions of pining schoolgirls. Just as inherent as his charisma was, apparently, his pureness of heart. . . and that was almost frightening. She had often marveled how someone of such conceit could be, simultaneously, so selfless. During the time that had elapsed since their acquaintance, she had found some answers along the way, but Tamaki was still very much a puzzle to her. One that probably, when assembled, depicted a cheery image of puppies or kittens nuzzling in some sort of basket, but nevertheless many-pieced and frustrating.

"You know, you're going to make a mess of your finances in the future. It just doesn't do to be a filthy rich bastard and be charitable. You're supposed to pick one or the other." Haruhi's sarcasm, as usual, betrayed none of her internal monologue.

"Well, I'll just be the first, then!" Tamaki said confidently, still grinning. "Besides, I've found that it's a lot more rewarding to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, anyhow."

Once again, his manner was overly casual. If she hadn't known better, Haruhi would've almost taken that last comment for an insinuation. It was easy for him to make such careless comments about his wealth, but she knew now that he didn't exactly take it for granted. She also knew Tamaki rarely said things without meaning them, however unserious his tone was.

"You say that now, but I'm sure you wouldn't last a week living as a commoner. . ."

Tamaki was suddenly indignant. "You have such little faith in me? I'm hurt, Haruhi. . . Just you wait, I can brave a life of cramped spaces, sheets with low thread counts, and supermarket variety sushi! In fact, I welcome the challenge!"

"I'm fully certain that you actually don't. . ." Haruhi shook her head. And since Tamaki looked to be in preparation to strike a ridiculous pose and begin some rambling defensive retort that was more than likely to err on the side of comedic than sensible, she hastened to add, "But I appreciate the sentiment."

He rewarded her with only a mild pout. He had transitioned seamlessly from being philosophical to being juvenile yet again - it was somewhat fascinating to watch. This was Tamaki - in his shining moments, he got no better or worse as he was at that very moment. Well, some of his tirades could become particularly annoying, but in the end, even they were ultimately forgivable. If Tamaki was more skilled in something besides his excellence at the seduction of the common female, it was redemption.

The hour was becoming late, and slightly breezy, and it was probably time for both of them to begin thinking about heading back home. Or, rather, their respective homes - the noun was not quite singular yet. Tamaki had, naturally, made prior arrangements with his chauffer to escort them - he just hadn't told Haruhi that he had specifically instructed him to wait outside the gates of the residence until further notice. He had hoped he would get this time alone with her, and though it was always much too brief, it accounted for something. And, knowing Ranka, a prompt escort and delivery was probably the most beneficial course of action if he ever again wished to see his daughter in this lifetime.

Sitting and ruminating in companionable silence, the pair lingered a few moments longer. Haruhi, dutiful clock-watcher on all occasions, was aware they'd best take their leave soon as well. The social had ended earlier than usual, but her father (her biological one, that was) would surely worry before long. Considering he and Tamaki's less than right-foot introduction (and, more correctly, _all fours_), Haruhi was sure he was entertaining all sorts of scenarios right then, some of which she was sure even she herself would not like to imagine. For her hapless date's sake, she had to make a prompt departure.

Still, she continued to prolong her stay. It was probably very romantic, what she was doing at the moment, sitting on a ledge with a boy in the moonlight. It wasn't just any ledge; this one was a beautifully sculpted piece of architecture, as only the upper crust could afford to institute - somewhat like the boy with whom she sat upon it. If she had been anyone other than herself, she might've taken advantage of the utterly clichéd perfection of the scene she was trapped in. She knew that if she still had female friends (with the exception of Renge. . .), when she regaled them with this story, they would all squeal and then shriek at her for being so typically "Haruhi". Haruhi was a mask of utterly sensible and logical complacence in all situations, straightforward and honest (as it was put nicely) in all walks of life, and completely uninhibited by the troubles and tribulations of human emotion. In short, she was just about as hard and sound as the ledge beneath her - it was a metaphor for everything tonight, it seemed. Tamaki would've really been depriving her of such an ample opportunity to draw illustrious literary comparisons if he'd gone back for that chair.

And so, a curious thought entered her head: what if, for a few moments, she was to do something entirely unlike herself? Something that, when retold, would be able to shock all that knew her? Not that she intended to tell it, in all actuality; the point was one of principle. Somehow, her earlier mention of risks had found an impulsive streak in her. The question was, what could she manage to do that would be so far outside her boundaries of behavioral normalcy?

She looked over at Tamaki. He had the ghost of a smile on his face, and both of his palms were on the ledge, back slouched in a pose of leisure. His genuineness called for some respect. She guiltily admitted that she had expected him to fret over her the entire time, but he was giving her her space. More amazing was the fact that he had managed to remain quiet and in a sitting position for extended amounts of time. It appeared to be a night for out-of-character role-playing, she noted bemusedly.

In all seriousness, however, she had enjoyed the evening (or, rather, the part of it that didn't involve the actual reason for the date), and Tamaki deserved to be aware of such. Haruhi knew she was hard to read, merely by declension of personality, but she also knew that Tamaki had tried almost as hard, as always. For once, he should get at least some compensation. It would be even more rewarding for him to hear because her gratitude was genuinely meant.

Besides, all things considered, she was doubly indebted to him, for reasons both monetary and existential. When fate asked of him to jump off of a bridge for her, Tamaki didn't even ask how high, he just jumped. Even stupid, blind bravery was bravery, especially when he had repeated the feat twice for her miserable sake. She had never known just how susceptible she was to falling from great heights until Tamaki came into her life.

Whether she meant that in the literal or metaphorical sense, Haruhi didn't know, but she did have half a notion to launch herself off of the ledge just to see if he would still be there to catch her.

At the surprise of that thought, she had summoned the needed initiative to say what she needed.

"Sempai."

The effect this had on her senior was, as always, immediate, and in a moment his attention was unwaveringly hers to do with what she pleased. Whatever it was, because it was she who was capturing it, he would listen. Which, of course, he truly meant, despite the fact that it sounded absolutely corny upon recital and very well might've been excerpted directly from the pages of any nameless novel of the bodice-ripping genre. This was just another of Tamaki's charming peculiarities. While his intensity was somewhat disconcerting, once you finally discovered he was being serious in the first place, you came to appreciate it.

She smiled, rarely and gorgeously, and spoke in a voice soft but unmistakably clear. "Thank you for taking risks for me."

Tamaki's eyes dilated impossibly, and he stared at the petite brunette beside him with an almost heartbreaking amount of awe. Then, unexpectedly, he was on his feet, lifting her into an impromptu and very ungraceful embrace for what must've been the millionth time in their acquaintance. On this occasion, Haruhi was somewhat caught off guard (although, after all she had learned about Tamaki, she certainly shouldn't have been), but like that time during the festival, she was also unresisting. And a lot less wet and further from the verge of certain death, which made things slightly more comfortable.

She let him hold her - partially because there had never before been any reason to deny him of doing so, although she had only recently become aware of the affections he was expressing. The other reason was that she liked fitting there, in the space between the point of his chin and the center of his chest. It was odd thing to develop a fondness for, surely, but she liked the way that it made her feel secure for a few fleeting moments (not that such a thing was ever to be admitted). It was the comfort of a girl who had long ago grown too old to enjoy being cradled against her father's fake bosom.

She concluded, while memorizing each individual thread on his shirt, that the only thing more golden than Tamaki's hair was, in fact, his heart - and while neither were, most assuredly, superficial, the latter was the purer of the two. Everything else about him, his handsomeness and smooth-talking and riches, were but the gilding for who he truly was; mere accents to an already wonderful sculpture.

And that was the end of Haruhi's metaphorical monologue for the night. Sculptures were nice. . .

. . .But Tamaki was better.

Someday, she would tell him so.

* * *

**Eek, this took forever! (And longer for readers here. . . I posted this on LJ forever ago. I apologize for the delay.) I'm sorry. School killed my inspiration as well as my free time. As such, I'm not sure how well this flows, because I've been writing pathetically small portions of it since as far back as August. . . They still haven't even actually kissed yet, for which I sincerely apologize. (I keep sneaking the required kiss in really lamely. . . XD) It's very difficult to write physical affection between these two, though, since Haruhi is usually so apathetic to his advances. I almost feel as if I'm betraying her character, even when I wrote this.**

**Well, there are still four more installments to go. I know it's been a while, but bear with me - I have no intentions of abandoning this claim until I finish all of themes. I promised myself when I signed up that I'd finally complete a challenge, and so I shall, even as incapable as I am of writing drabbles.**

**I hope those of you who enjoyed the two previous themes didn't completely abandon hope in me. I already have a fair amount of the fourth theme written, so it should come along more quickly, especially with the holidays coming up. Look for it!**

**And now, belatedly, I will shut up.**


End file.
